


Never About The Money

by yeterah



Category: Red Dead Revolver
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Idiots in Love, it izz what it izz, this fandom needs a lot more fics but as one of my favorite memes say...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-06
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-12 17:29:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29888052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeterah/pseuds/yeterah
Summary: A rancher and a gunslinger with history finally get the time to relax before a big day.
Relationships: Red Harlow/Annie Stoakes
Kudos: 3





	Never About The Money

**Author's Note:**

> I've got a much bigger project coming up, but I just wrote this on a whim one night. Decided to go on and finish it today. This may be a lil dookie since it ain't been beta read or nun, lmao 
> 
> Please enjoy, person reading this 😀👍🏾

A bonfire cackles and sways in the open terrain. The hours are late, heading into the awaiting day: The Brimstone Quick-draw Tournament. It wouldn’t stop recycling in Annie’s mind, but it isn’t all that raises the hairs on her neck; it’s the governor’s Tournament, his little game to make good people suffer. Good people like her, who’s now made victim to his unkind ways, the burning of her ranch. And all for gold. She could set him and his town to flame if it weren’t for cowardly survival that keeps her silent. Coming from being human. 

Clenching her fists, she wishes she were indecent if only to send the governor to Kingdom Come. The fire reminds her of it all, the blades of grass succumbing to the heat like the aging wood of her barn. Of her home. Sparks whittle away like her frightened cattle. 

Annie’s eyes sting. She meant to keep away from fire. 

However, she made an exception tonight. An exception she long deemed stupid yet worth it: Red. 

Red Harlow. The fastest draw that has ever drawn breath. His tale of woe is one Annie can connect with; a young boy, forever haunted by the loss of his mother and father, his home, and everything else a boy could ever know. Now, he is a hard man. The aspiring gunslinger’s messiah, a legend meant for the books… Except he isn’t that, but a cagey man of few words and rather plain for a legend. Only those closest to him know that, though. 

Annie never planned to know him either. Her ranch’s tragedy and the Brimstone government’s coldness have kept her mind too busy with grief. She’d finished chewing an old bastard out when she ran into him — literally. Him and his height and his guttural voice and his eyes, like sharp platinum bands. Then fate played games. Pushed him to her while she watched her ranch burn, and in Brimstone while she was minding her own business, and everywhere else thereafter. Annie got over her pride and then she finally knew him. “Stranger” became “Red Harlow”, then simply “Red”. And she was “miss”, then “Miss Stoakes”. Then “Annie.” 

Her name sounds nice coming from him. It rolls off his tongue, smooth and gravelly. Like he was born to say it. Her stomach flutters as he keeps this between them. In front of the young soldier or the Englishman, for example, sitting by their own fire now, it’s “Miss Stoakes.” On a sultry afternoon, however, under the velvet sheet of the afternoon sun, it’s “Annie” again. 

Sudden-like, her sight is no longer occupied by the fire. Red is there, puffing in smoke from his haphazard cigar. She hated smoking and hated smokers, but for an odd reason, didn’t mind him. 

Matter of fact, she might know. 

“How ya’ feeling ‘bout the tournament coming up then, Red?” 

He squeezes one more puff in, allowing what smoke exudes from his mouth and nose to join the fire. “I feel no way.” 

Her head slopes, regardless of expecting such a response from him. “Not nervous or nothin’?” 

“Nope.” 

“Not even scared?” 

Hidden under his wide-brimmed hat, he says again, “Nope.” 

The cackling fire is loud again, in silence’s wake. Oranges and reds dance about Red’s toned skin, too intriguing to pull Annie’s gaze away. 

She’s got things to say, fighting against a beating heart to say them.

“Have you, um…” she shifts, her crossed legs pointing toward him. “Have you thought about what you’re gonna do with that prize money?” 

He partakes in another dose of tobacco. “It ain’t about the money.” 

She forgot. However, a tease crawls up her system, making her perk up. “Alright, well… if it was about the money, then what would you do with it?” 

Red shrugs. “Buy me a new pistol, maybe.” 

“Okay — if guns weren’t a factor, what would you do then?” 

“Buy me enough whiskey to sit me under a table.” 

Annie laughs. “Okay… if guns and liquor weren’t a factor, what would you do with that money then?” 

She’s got those cogs turning now, his chin planting in his large hand. It’s the most personality she’s seen on the man. It tempts to be magnificent to Annie, perking her shoulders. Then the man shrugs. 

“Give it to someone else, I suppose.” 

A droop comes in her entire posture — even her face. She sighs. “You don’t have any dreams, do you? No aspirations? You ain’t…” 

Impatience stops her, turns her around. The curse brought by an impending something, something courageous and yet frightening. She breathes. 

“You ain’t ever thought about life iff’n you’d… gone another way? Had a patch of land? Had a wife and children?” 

She has spoken, which scares her. Then she meets those platinum eyes again, made gold by the fire’s light. 

“Do you?” 

It gives her hope. Enough hope to urge honesty. Her cheeks grow warm, and not by the fire.

“Maybe… maybe sometimes.” 

They share a look. Time slows, even the speed of the fire’s sway. It’s the blame for Red’s eyes, his stare. By his expression, he’s solved a puzzle. And the unknown, making her hope for more. 

Then it’s gone. “I see.” 

He’s gone again, under his hat. Back involved with the tobacco in his cigar. Annie’s head drops.

Frustration is damning, building until she can’t help it anymore. 

“I’ve got feelings for ya’, Red.” 

Damning it is. She hasn’t got a friend anymore. Haven’t got him anymore, platonically, colloquially, or otherwise. She’s done — they’re done — _what have I done —_

“Likewise, Miss Stoakes.” 

Annie’s soul runs away. She looks up. His position hasn’t changed, remaining hidden under that hat. 

“Oh.” It’s all she can manage. 

And soon when Red finally looks up, his smile bright, she can laugh. 

So can he.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you beaucoup for reading. Have le petit gâteau 😌🍰


End file.
